Page 36 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

Luna

T en million dollars. In one single day.

Don’t get me wrong—I love spending money.

God knows how much I’ve burned through on horses over the years.

And there was a time when the whole expensive-designer-labels, being-seen-in-the-right-places scene appealed to me.

I went to all the swanky venues, drank cocktails that cost more than rent in some parts of Portland, and told myself it mattered.

But even at my worst, I never came close to spending ten million bucks in one day.

Yet here we are. That’s what I did when I bought both Mackenzie Forestry Services and a majority shareholding in that bastard Tim Collier’s company.

I’d thought Daddy would be furious—but no.

When I called him to explain, he was practically giddy.

He wanted to help. Mom’s over the moon too, though not for the same reasons.

She’s just happy I’m no longer an eco-activist embarrassment.

As long as Daddy keeps up her allowance so she can keep swanning around her galas and lunches, basking in the glow of being a “philanthropist” and a faded ex-actress, she’s satisfied.

Sometimes I wonder what they ever saw in each other.

Penelope says it’s simple—wealth attracts beauty, beauty attracts wealth.

Shallow, sure, but isn’t that just human nature?

Either way, I lucked out. I got Mom’s looks and Daddy’s brains.

With his guidance, running a forestry business doesn’t scare me.

I mean, it’s planting and harvesting trees, right? How hard can it be?

And while we’re doing that, we can actually make the world a better place. Protect endangered species. Plant fast-growing timber crops for construction. Make sure we grow more trees than we cut down—be a net positive for oxygen and carbon capture. Not just for us, but for the planet.

Best of all, I get to do all that living in Mount Hood National Forest… with my four mountain men. My men. Not a bad trade-off. Not bad at all.

I kinda miss Southpaw, though. He’s been gone for days now. Luke and Toby swear he always comes back on his own schedule. I hope they’re right.

The only real downer right now is this headache. It’s been gnawing at me for a day and a half. Advil hasn’t touched it. And it’s not just that—my breasts feel… tender. Like, I don’t want them touched. This morning, I woke up nauseated.

And that’s when it hits me.

Wait. No. I can’t be pregnant.

I mean—sure, I’ve been sleeping with the guys. A lot. But I’m on the pill. I never, ever forget. My routine is ironclad: one pill every night before bed, without fail. It’s practically a religion.

Except— oh God .

There were two nights. That first night, when Luke rescued me. I was unconscious. Again, when I fell, up in the high walkway. Both times, I didn’t take it.

My stomach drops.

I fumble for my pill packet, spill it across the dressing table, and count. Twelve left. I should have ten.

“Shit.” My voice comes out in a whisper. “Shit, shit, shit.”

I am screwed. Utterly screwed.

And if I am pregnant, I won’t even know whose it is.

I’ve been with Eric, Luke, Jack, and Toby. I can still remember myself laughing, teasing them not to worry because I was “safe.” Safe. Ha. So clever, right? Smarter than the mountain men. And here I am, the one who couldn’t even manage a basic pill schedule. Who’s the ape now?

Panic prickles over my skin.

What do I even tell them? Who do I tell first? What if they think I planned this? What if they think I’m trapping them? What if they demand paternity tests? What if the father wants nothing to do with it?

What if this ruins everything?

My hands tremble as icy dread seeps down my spine.

I try to picture their reactions.

Luke would go silent, that flat, unreadable stare of his.

Jack might crack a joke at first, but then he’d turn deadly serious, maybe too serious.

Toby would try to laugh it off, but I’d see the panic behind his blue eyes.

And Eric… Eric would try to be noble, to step up, but that almost makes it worse.

What if he felt obligated instead of happy?

The thought makes me queasy all over again.

Okay. Breathe, Luna. First step—find out for sure. Don’t spiral until you know.

There are plenty of reasons I could have a headache and nausea.

That whisky yesterday, for one. Jack brought out a Lagavulin he’d been saving, and I joined in.

I smiled and laughed, tried to pretend I liked it.

Truth is, it tasted like paraffin. Men and their obsession with whisky.

Champagne is a much better way to celebrate.

Focus. How do I know for sure?

Take a test, obviously. Except—what are the chances of finding a pregnancy test kit in the middle of a logging camp in the woods? Zero.

Desperate, I grab my phone and search YouTube: “home pregnancy test.”

Up comes a mess of ridiculous ideas. Salt. Bleach. Vinegar. Toothpaste. Garlic. Lemons. Cooking oil.

I groan, pressing a hand to my forehead. Utter nonsense.

Which means I need a real test. Which means I need to get into town. Soon.

Because the longer I wait, the more I picture their faces when they find out. And right now, I’m not sure which terrifies me more—actually being pregnant, or seeing the look in their eyes when I tell them.

"Hey, Luna, wake up!"

"Huh, wha?" I raise my head from the table, blinking blearily, to see Toby standing next to me with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

"You okay, babe?" His grin is easy, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

"What? Oh, yeah, sure. Just tired." I force a grin that I hope is convincing.

"Want a coffee? Coffee’s great for waking you up."

"Alright, yeah, thanks, Tobes."

He heads over to the stove, grabs a spare mug en route, and pours me one.

No milk—he knows better by now. But he nudges the sugar bowl toward me, along with a not-particularly-clean but good-enough teaspoon.

I spoon in sugar, stirring absentmindedly, needing the hit of energy more than I care to admit.

"Something on your mind, Chief Revenue Officer?" Toby asks, eyebrows raised.

"Well, actually, yes. There is."

"Go on then. Out with it."

I take a breath. "I’ve been here a couple of weeks now, right? Which means it’s been about two weeks since the storm, yes?"

Toby does a mock calculation on his fingers, grinning, but when he sees my expression, he drops the act. "Yeah, something like that. Why?"

"Well… we’re kinda low on fresh food. And I need to visit a pharmacy for… women’s things. Plus, I could really use more than one pair of panties, if you catch my drift."

He grins wickedly. "Wearing a bit thin, are they?"

"Fuck you." I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth quirks up despite myself.

"Seriously, though, yeah, I get it. You’re asking if we can make it into town yet, right?"

"You got it, Brains."

"Alright, let’s consult Luke. He’s the oracle on all things access-related."

"Great. Where’s he at?"

Toby chuckles. "Chainsaw shed. Where else? Sharpening his precious babies."

We head over, and sure enough, Luke’s bent over a workbench, honing the teeth of a chain while Jack leans nearby, discussing which stand of pines to tackle next. Both look up at Toby’s trademark greeting.

"Hey losers, how’s it hanging?"

"Hi, bro," Jack replies evenly.

"Hi, Toby," Luke rumbles, voice calm, low.

"Listen, guys. Luna here’s tired of only owning one pair of panties. Apparently, she thinks she deserves another pair." Toby winks at me. "She wants to head into town for a shopping spree, maybe grab us some fresh food while she’s at it. What are the chances?"

Both men glance at Luke, who tilts his head, thinking it through in silence, weighing every angle like he always does.

"Actually," he says finally, "it could be done…"

My heart gives a little skip. Perfect. I can slip into a pharmacy, pick up a pregnancy test—two, just to be sure—tucked in with tampons or pads. None of the guys will ask questions. Men never want details when it comes to female hygiene.

"…That is, if she doesn’t mind taking the quad," Luke finishes.

"What, the Honda FourTrax?" Toby asks.

"Yeah, that’s the one. Single-lane track’ll thread through the downed trees fine. Might take the little trailer with one of the smaller saws, just in case."

"Great," I say quickly, trying not to sound too eager. "Let’s do it. Will you drive me, Toby?"

"You betcha."

He offers his hand. I slap it in a high five, and just like that, the first part of my problem is solved.

Or at least… Part One.

"Town" Turns out to be the self-same, one-horse, nowheresville dump that I'd hitched a ride into from Portland, what seems like months ago now, but was actually just a couple of weeks back.

Known as Martha, apparently it's named after a pony that saved her owner's life by cantering for three days with the unconscious man on her back, all the way from his gold claim into town, then dropped dead of thirst, right outside the general store.

It made such an impression on the couple of hundred souls living there that they voted to change their town's name in honor of the animal, right then and there, which they duly did.

We park up the Honda on the high street and climb off, stretching. The quad bike is nowhere near as comfortable as a normal car or truck over longer distances, and I feel a little wobbly on my feet.

"Whoa, girl. You alright?" Toby reaches out a steadying hand, his voice concerned. Again, I give my best reassuring smile.

"Sure, yeah, just tired after the long ride, is all." And also because my brain's been looping one single thought for the last hour: what if it's positive?

"Okay, well, if you're sure?" I nod. "So what's the plan?" he asks.

"Is there a pharmacy?"

"Bless you, no."

My spirits sink.

"But there's a general store, and that's got a kind of pharmacy area. If you're after tampons and stuff, I'm sure they have them."